


Time in a Bottle

by smolbiotic



Series: Toll for the Just [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Colonist (Mass Effect), Family Feels, Gen, Mindoir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolbiotic/pseuds/smolbiotic
Summary: Part one of Toll for the Just.Jennifer Shepard had an idyllic life growing up on Mindoir. Her family was happy and stable, she had a faithful canine companion who lived in her shadow (following her everywhere), and she was smart as a whip when it came to tech. Losing her family left her in ruins.In this series of shorts, I plan to explore the heavy cost of this loss and the way Commander Shepard copes with her choices and the path she chose to walk on.





	Time in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Please note there are graphic scenes of violence, including violence against an animal.

The Mindoir sun possessed a spirit akin to that of a nagging parent. Every morning when it crested the flat horizon, painting the farmland and the native silvery-blue flora in its golden light, the heat that followed was like a firm hand plunging through the still waters of a sleeping mind to rouse dreamers from their slumber. A _ very _ firm hand.   
  
Jennifer Shepard had a very polarized love-hate relationship with the sun. She loved the way its warmth soaked into the soil and coaxed her family’s crops to grow, and she especially loved the way it made the silica-rich earth sparkle like starlight had fallen to the ground and decided it would stay for a spell. After all, who could fault the stars for lingering on their little planet? Mindoir might lack the reputation that a colony like Eden Prime had, but to Jenny it was a world straight out of a storybook. She very passionately loved her home.   
  
If only it wasn’t so _ hot _ . She lived for the chill that came with the brief cold snaps the colonists called winter, but fell into a crooked mess when the heat returned every year without fail. Her parents told her she was being dramatic, a modern day princess and the pea, but Jenny just turned her little nose up at that. She wasn’t too fussy, their planet just needed to chill. _ Literally _.

Sunlight slanted through her window, as it did every morning, and landed directly on her bare, freckled feet. She squeezed her green eyes shut and wiggled her toes as if the action would cool them, then groaned when she turned onto her side just to collide with something furry and warm. There was no escaping the accursed heat.

A low, whuffling sigh escaped the lump, followed by the tired slap of a tail against the grey sheets when Jenny’s fingers found themselves lacing through the coarse fur of her most beloved friend.

“Morning, Quince charming,” she sighed into the old german shepherd’s chest while she scratched his shoulders, fingers deep in his undercoat. His name was Quincy, but after eight years with his human he had long since learned to respond to the many nicknames she had given him. When he realized she was awake, the old dog with his greying muzzle and warm, brown eyes began thumping his tail happily against the bed and licked her face.  
  
Jenny just groaned again and shielded her face with her hands.

“Go on, old goof,” she chided gently, “Get down. It’s too hot with you up here.”

The old dog tilted his head to the side at first, but hopped off the bed the moment he heard the word _ ‘down.’ _ Even so, when he was on the floor he sat next to the bed and stared up at Jenny expectantly. It would seem that the sun wasn’t the only part of her morning that channeled the spirit of a nagging parent.   
  
Time to get out of bed, then. And really, today it was something to look forward to! After weeks of working hard in school and around the farm, she had earned herself a rare day off from chores. Her parents had given her a day to do whatever she wanted once breakfast was done. Her friends were all busy with their own chores, so that meant she and Quincy could take off and play in the woods, where she’d likely spend the whole day hiding from the sun near the bend in the brook where she liked to dangle her feet.   
  
Grinning at the prospect of a free day, the young girl finally relented, swinging her skinny legs around so she could sit at the edge of her mattress. She beamed the moment her toes touched the floor to find it mercifully cool.

Quincy nudged her with a large, wet nose and she giggled before pushing him away so she could get up.

As she dragged her tired body away from her bed and towards her dresser, the sound of music began floating in from the living room, which meant her parents were beginning their morning routine right on time. They followed a loose rule of one song before breakfast and one song before bed, which loosely translated to: wake the kids up gently with music and send them to sleep with a lullaby.

The beginning of Jenny’s routine always coincided with theirs. First, she tried to guess the song her parents had chosen to start their day before the lyrics could give away the name. Screwing her face up in concentration in front of her dresser, she tapped the beat against her freckled thigh and tried to guess it.

“It’s a good one, Quince Charming, and I know it! But what’s the name?”  
  
The shepherd just tilted his head, ears swivelling towards the door as though he wanted to make his own guess at the music filtering through in order to help her. Instead her let out a low bark, a weak response that he somehow sensed was useless to his girl if his little whine and the droop in his ears were any indication. Jenny laughed at him, bracing her belly while she did, and sifted through her memories to see if she could recall the tune.

Matthew Shepard was a man with a passion for Earth’s classics. He had a particular fondness for the more romantic tunes, but old rock and roll took up a large portion of his music collection as well. Because of him their living room was filled with posters, records, and instruments and had long since been transformed into a shrine for one of his greatest passions. The pride and joy of his little cabinet of musical curiosities was a baby grand piano made of sleek, lovely mahogany.

Her father was playing that piano now, his fingers dancing across the keys to flood the Shepard household with a slightly melancholy tune. The melody picked up and the freckled girl began to panic.  
  
“Shoot, not much time left...time!”   
  
Her mother’s smoky voice began to sing the words, “If I could save-”   
  
Jenny yelled along with her, “Time in a bottle!”   
  
A peal of musical laughter paused the song momentarily before Erin and Matthew both called out to her with a, “Close one!”   
  
“Shut _ up _ ! Do you lunatics have any idea how early it is?”   
  
And there was Sophie, her little sister, right on cue. At thirteen, Soph was developing quite an attitude problem and chafed under all the Shepard family traditions. She’d rather run from her farm work to sit and gossip with her friends, and her makeup collection already doubled Jenny’s and their mother’s combined. She had the makings of a proper diva, but despite her sass and how different she was from her older sister, Jenny loved her all the same.   
  
Her parents chuckled and went back to their music, leaving Soph to steam quietly in her own irritation and Jenny to meet her reflection’s gaze once more, ready to start her damage control.   
  
First, she smoothed the wrinkles of her pj set (matching teal shorts and a tank top with a cartoon dolphin on it). Even though she hadn’t watched Dappy the Dolphin vids since she was ten or so, she still thought he was cute. Next, she scrunched up her face and tried to will away her freckles, which ended as successfully as the day before: not at all. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the very Irish complexion she had inherited from her father, the one she was always teased for in school, and settled on something she _ could _ fix: her hair.   
  
With a determined set to her angled jaw and a wide-toothed comb, Jenny began to gently pull the tangles from her wild tumble of strawberry-blonde waves. She started at the ends and worked her way up until it was smooth and glowing like embers in the morning light.   
  
“How do I look, old goof?”   
  
Quincy began to wag his tail lazily when she spoke to him.   
  
“I’ll take it. Let’s go wake up Sophie.”   
  
This was her favourite part of the day. Smirking, Jenny left her room with its lilac walls and scraps of tech littered all over her floor and dresser, then crossed the hall to slide Soph’s door open for her sweet, old pup.   
  
The delighted and oblivious shepherd practically pranced towards the thirteen year-old, smothering her pale face with kisses when he hopped up into her bed.   
  
Sophie _ shrieked _ . Not because she was mad, but because she was unreasonably ticklish. She hauled her blankets over her head and cried, “Awful, _ awful _ sister!”   
  
“I feel the love, guys!” Matthew called out from the living room as his song came to an end. Giggling, Jenny padded down the hall in her bare feet just in time for her mother to pull her into a dance, Quincy following in her shadow as usual. In a sing-song voice, Erin asked her daughter, “Guess what today is?”

“Tuesday,” Jenny fired back, grinning as she and her mother fell into a loose waltz while her father continued to play a nonsense ¾ melody on the piano.

“Very funny,” Erin rolled her green eyes and tossed dark tresses away from them with an air of indignance, “With an attitude like that I just might revoke your free day privileges, you saucy child.”  
  
She spun her daughter away and faced Quincy, tapping her chest. With a cheerful bark, the old dog hopped up and placed his paws where she had tapped and she pretended to waltz with him.   
  
“The dog can dance better than you, I hope you know,” she teased with a wink in her daughter’s direction. Jenny rolled her own green eyes and put her hands on her hips, “Now saucy daughter, guess again.”   
  
Erin Shepard gave her daughter a small smile, but the brilliance in her green eyes betrayed her elation. Few things in the world brought Jenny’s mother the kind of joy that turned her eyes jewel-bright. Aside from her husband, her daughters, her animals, and a couple of old French songs, only tomatoes inspired that sort of mirth in the eccentric woman.

“Tomatoes are ready?”

“Plenty of them fat on the vine, all with your father’s seal of approval for harvest. Which means…”  
  
“First BLTs of the season!”   
  
Matthew swung around on his mahogany bench as he finished his wife’s sentence for her, arms folded over his barrelled chest and a bright smile flashing from within the tangle of his strawberry-blonde beard. He looked obnoxious sitting there in his worn work shirt, his biceps bulging through the plaid fabric.   
  
Jenny _ wanted _ to roll her eyes, but the promise of BLTs had her mouth watering. Family breakfast was a sacred tradition in the Shepard household, and the most coveted breakfast of all was the elusive BLT.   
  
In most families, a BLT was just a sandwich with bacon, lettuce, and tomato. In the Shepard house, it was the delicious culmination of a thriving farming colony. They grew the lettuce and tomatoes, the bacon came from the Colwell farm down the road, the mayo was made using eggs from their hens and canola oil pressed by the Okoye family, who also made the bread with flour milled from their wheat and packed with grains they grew.   
  
The Shepards didn’t have BLTs for breakfast often, but when they did it was an incomparable feast. Jenny’s mouth watered just thinking of it and she found herself reflecting her mother’s mood, the corners of her mouth twitching into a wide smile. Her smile was more generous than her mom’s. It was as free and open as her father’s, and equally as infectious (if not more so).   
  
The three of them eventually moved into the kitchen, soon joined by a tired Sophie who had fussed enough with her appearance to braid her fair hair and coat her full lips with gloss. She was even wearing _ mascara. _   
  
“Got someone to impress?” Jenny teased.   
  
“Don’t shame me for caring how I look, _ sis _ ,” Sophie made a big show of checking her lacquered nails, “Not everyone has to look like an animal.”   
  
Matthew pulled away from his cutting board, chef’s knife in hand, and gave his daughters a _ look _. It was the kind of look that could silence a room, and his daughters were no exception. Their mouths snapped shut and they both obediently set to work. While Erin cooked the bacon, Matthew prepared the veg and Soph started toasting the bread. Jenny was in charge of setting the table.

She waggled her tongue at her sister and grabbed placemats from a drawer near the stove, playfully hip-bumping her mom out of the way. Erin chuckled and winked at her, then plopped a piece of salty bacon into Jenny’s mouth while Sophie’s hazel eyes glared into the toast she was smearing with mayo. The younger girl resisted her sister’s goading valiantly, too aware of how easily her attitude could cost her a free day now that her grades were improving.

Once her arms were laden with placemats, napkins, and flatware, Jenny made the short trip to the large, wooden dining table that had been in her family longer than she had. The top was made from a single slab of olive wood all the way from Earth, lovingly shaped and sanded by her mother’s small hands. Its glossy finish had worn over the years, and there were more coffee rings than tree rings, but it was as solid and timeless as ever.

Jenny found herself smiling softly as she set the table, her impatience forgotten as she ran her fingers over the rough surface, tracing every memory carved and stained in the wood. The table had been a gift, a peace offering that her mother had made after she met Matthew. He and Erin had gotten into a furious debate over _ tomatoes _ of all things, and ugly words were exchanged at an agricultural summit where leaders in Mindoir’s farming community had met to discuss plans for breeding hardier crops over the coming years.   
  
Matthew had been very vocal in his belief that they should focus on the quality and flavour of their food as much as they focused on the hardiness and quantity. Erin told him he was a naive fool, never flinching when he set his infamous glare upon her. They argued for hours after the summit and hated each other for every moment of it.

Days later, they both realized on their own that they shared a common madness, and while Matthew fretted over how he should apologize Erin got to work with her hands. _ Her _father had a side-hustle building one-of-a-kind furniture he shipped off-world using wood he had flown in from Earth, so she swiped a piece and built a table.

Olive wood was expensive on Earth. On Mindoir it had more value than gold or jewels, but Erin’s father didn’t argue when she stormed into his shop and started working. Whether it was because he understood her intentions or feared her was a highly contested subject in the Shepard house.

Regardless, the table showed up on Matthew’s doorstep weeks later with a note that read, _ ‘Since we’re good at extreme, here’s my take on an olive branch. Yours can be dinner.’ _   
  
It wound up being breakfast (not dinner) that they shared, and it had been served on the very same table Jen was now setting.

There was plenty of furniture filled with memories in the Shepard home: Matthew’s piano, Erin’s woodworking tools, the couch Jenny’s late grandfather had made them, and the shelving made from upcycled brood boxes. Countless lumpy ceramics made by the Shepard sisters were tucked into every nook and cranny as well, but the heart of their family rested in that worn, old table. 

The sound of a ceramic plate dropping on dense wood snapped Jenny from her thoughts and she looked up at her father’s boyish grin. Breakfast was served.

* * *

With the taste of bacon and succulent, sweet oaxacan jewel tomatoes lingering on her tongue, Jenny quickly changed into jean shorts and a tee, then shouldered her backpack and bolted out the door before her sister could guilt her into dish duty. Quincy was close on her heels, following her past the chicken coop and onto the hard-packed dirt that webbed through rows and rows of tomato cages with his nose to the ground.

Golden sunlight fell over the Shepard farm with a wash of gentle heat as the morning progressed. The silica in the dirt glittered brilliantly beneath the girl’s feet and in the dust clouds that bloomed in her wake. It brought out the red tones in her strawberry blonde hair, too, which fell in a fiery cascade around her shoulders as she bounced through her family’s modest acreage. Normally her mother braided it before she left the house, but she had been far too impatient to sit through that before she headed outdoors.  
  
Her plans for the day were thrilling in their simplicity: head into the woods that ringed the Shepard family farm with Quincy, let her feet hang in the brook that cut through the trees, and pick at the program she was trying to write for her dad’s new VI. He was giving her a chance to tweak the watering protocols as they moved into the hot summer months, something he didn’t even trust his own wife to handle.

Her “free day” was, in truth, a day she would spend doggedly working at impressing her father with her technological brilliance. If she was going to take over his farm one day, she was going to make sure he passed it on to her with confidence. The thought of the sprinklers nestled in the soil between their crops stuttering to life from _ her _ commands had Jenny fired up. She looked back at her old dog with his graying muzzle and his massive ears and grinned.

“C’mon, Quince charming!” she called, and just like that the two broke into a run.  
  
The scenery rushed by in a blur of greens, oranges, and browns as Jenny passed the crops and the brood boxes where fat honeybees bumbled lazily about their day. Her pace didn’t let up as she darted past the tree line, trading the heavy perfume of tomato vines and manure for the pungent detritus of the forest.

Flat, silvery- blue leaves slapped Jenny’s face as she ducked below the low-hanging branches of Mindoir maples. The sweet scent of their sap wafted through her path occasionally, then grew cloying as she neared the dense tangle of trees where the path stopped.  
  
She stopped running, her lungs burning and eyes streaming over her smattering of freckles. The skinny girl bent over at the waist, bracing herself on her knees while Quincy nosed through the grass at her feet, ever the inquisitive pup despite his old age. His sides shook with a contented huff as he found a particularly intriguing stink in the dirt and Jenny laughed.   
  
“Old goof,” she teased, earning little more than an ear turned towards her voice.   
  
The pair kept a leisurely pace once they traded a proper path for game trails, neatly stepping over roots and rocks alike as they ventured deeper into the quiet woods. Jenny was grateful for her sweat as it dried and cooled her; there was no breeze in the shelter of the Mindoir maples, which made the morning heat stifling at best.

When they reached their destination, Quincy darted into the brook and began chasing fish while Jenny took off her bag to root through it for a datapad. The old shepherd didn’t care for the hunt so much as the sport of watching fish jump out of the water, a fact made clear by the way he always aimed his snapping jaws right above them.  
  
He tired of his game when Jenny was well into her work, neat brows drawn together in concentration while she sprawled backwards with her feet (now bare and released from their boot-prisons) dangling in the cool water. She was glaring at her datapad when he dropped down beside her, neatly tucking his front paws beneath his chest before dropping his head into her lap.   
  
They stayed like that for an hour before Jenny’s eyes grew heavy, a combination of the heat and the sickly-sweet scent of the trees lulling her into sleep.

* * *

Jenny woke to the sound of Quincy snarling above her, his lips curled back to reveal rows of wicked teeth. For a split second she panicked, rolling away from him with a sharp breath and her heart hammering against her chest. Ever her protector, the old dog’s fury was broken by the sound of her fear. He melted into a whining mess and came towards her, pressing his wet nose against her cheek until her fingers were in the fur around his neck. When she started scratching him he licked her face before bounding away from her to dance by the trees.  
  
“What’s wrong, old goof?” she asked him, wiping sweat from her brow. The back of her hand left a streak of dirt across her forehead.   
  
Quincy just kept dancing, a growl rumbling low in his chest as he urged her to understand him as best an old dog could.   
  
Brows knitting together in concern, Jenny shook her feet dry and tugged her boots back on, forgetting her socks, and tossed her datapad back into her pack. Quincy had been her stalwart companion since he was a pup, and in their eight years together she had never seen him act out like this. Something about his behaviour had her hair standing on end and her stomach tightening with nerves.   
  
“Quince?”   
  
He barked and darted into the woods, back down the trail they had followed earlier. Jenny found herself scrambling to her feet to follow after him, struggling to keep her footing as she stumbled over the same roots and rocks she so carefully avoided just hours before.   
  
Every now and again the old shepherd would pause and wait for her to catch up, just to dart off again the moment he saw her. He was hurrying them out of the woods towards home, fear and fury urging him forwards and sweeping Jenny up into the panic.

Broad, bluish leaves once more slapped her face and seemed to grasp at her, but this time she didn’t revel in the glorious freedom she typically felt while running through the woods. This time she tried to swipe them away, wincing as her hair tangled with the low-hanging branches just to be torn out.

The abuse of the maples relented when they began to thin, revealing her first real glimpse of the blue Mindoir sky since she had disappeared into the woods. All at once she understood why Quincy had been worked into such a panic: something was horribly, _ horribly _ wrong.   
  
Belching plumes of smoke snaked up through the sky all across the horizon. Staring straight ahead, she could count five of them. Cold fingers of dread clenched her heart when she realized that four of their neighbours had homes in that direction, and the smoke lined up…   
  
The Shepard home was the fifth, and it was mercifully the thinnest pillar of smoke within her line of sight.   
  
Screaming tore through Jenny’s panicked thoughts and Quincy took off running again. He knew that scream as well as she did, except it sounded _ wrong _ . Sophie only ever screamed if you tickled her too much or made her laugh so hard she doubled over and let out that wicked, witchy noise that was so uniquely hers. She never screamed from anger, or sadness, or fear.   
  
She never screamed in pain.   
  
Jenny blinked hard, tears streaking down her dirt-smeared cheeks as she pushed her cramping legs into action and followed after Quincy.   
  
Back she went, past the brood boxes with their lazy bees, through the tomato cages along the hardened dirt path and the clouds of shimmering dust that her dog had kicked up behind him.   
  
She barely noticed the strange ships pulling away from the old Colwell farm just a couple of klicks away or the flames that ripped through the dry coop where chickens were shrieking and running circles in their panic. None of that mattered, not when her little sister was shrieking with raw, animal terror. That tortured voice was a horrible red beacon, a violent gleam guiding her towards her family. She kept running, one foot then another, the taste of ammonia and smoke burning in her throat the closer she got. 

_ Soon, little sis. I’m almost there, I’ve got you, I’m coming for you- _

Her toe hooked on something solid and painful and she lurched forward, falling hard into the packed dirt. 

There was no time to register what was happening. One moment she was running, the next she was sprawled between the tomato cages, a ringing in her ears and a metallic taste in her mouth when she pushed herself up onto her knees. Her cheek throbbed painfully and something wet and chunky moved across her tongue.

_ Ah _ .   
  
She had bitten off a piece of her cheek when she fell.   
  
Jenny spat out the chunk and rose shakily to her feet. Quincy had stopped to wait for her again, barking madly and dancing on the spot. She blinked her green eyes at him slowly, feeling for all the world like she was trying to peer through a heavy fog. A part of her wondered if there were strangers inside her home and if his barking might alert them, but the thought was just out of reach for her sluggish mind. It lingered, a vague notion she knew was there but couldn’t name. Her head hurt and everything felt so _ foggy. _   
  
Before she realized what was happening, Quincy was at her feet, whining and nudging her thigh, urging her to move. The girl’s trembling fingers found his fur and with a ringing in her ears she slowly came back to herself.   
  
Sophie was screaming again, begging someone to _ stop _ .   
  
Just like that Jenny was back, eyes narrowing in an attempt to focus as she strained to hear what was happening through the ringing and the fog. She looked wildly around herself for something, _ anything _ she could arm herself with and broke into a shaky run when she spotted a hand fork leaning against the chicken wire that fenced in the terrified birds. When she grabbed it, she had the good sense to yank the gate open so the hens could run free. Some had already died, their small hearts not strong enough to withstand the stress of the flames chewing into their home and spitting smoke.

The sight of all that death sat in Jenny’s stomach like a weight. A horrible voice in her head wondered if she would find her sister the same way. 

_ No, _she thought firmly, and the defiant fire that sparked in her burned warmly in her chest and urged her forward. 

That _ no _ planted something in her, a righteous fury that took root and grew wild and free like the weeds tangled in the teeth of her impromptu tool-turned-weapon. She felt new energy racing through her to shift over her skin in varying shades of blue. Whorls of biotic energy came to life across her body, leaving her with a strangely cool burning sensation in her palms, mouth, and her forehead. 

A distant part of her recognized the dark energy manifesting within, and the Jenny that raced through the woods that morning shivered with fear. It shouldn’t be a shock. Her mother had spent almost the entirety of her pregnancy doing an educational tour aboard liveships and stations, helping establish successful hydroponics gardens to keep a steady source of fresh food for those daring humans who took it upon themselves to live in the cold vacuum of space. They had always known this was a possibility, she just hoped it would never be a reality.

The furious creature stirring in her belly told her to stop dwelling on it, to accept it and keep moving, to _ use _it. There was no time to waste, not when her family needed her. Clenching a white-knuckled fist, the scrap of a girl stilled her tempestuous heart with an immeasurable force of will and began to inch forwards. 

She crept towards the back door and lowered her pack quietly to the ground, then had the foresight to gather all of her hair and tuck it down into the back of her shirt as well. She didn’t want to give any attackers something to grab when she went inside.

Quincy, despite his raised hackles and the rage that tensed his muscles, followed her example and finally grew quiet. Or maybe he had grown quiet when biotic energy flared in the furious stranger that smelled so much like his beloved girl. 

Smoke burned in Jenny’s lungs and throat, but she laid a gentle hand on her old pup’s shoulder and felt him lean into the touch. They would do this together. 

Crouching, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. Everything had gone quiet but for the sound of those two low, growling voices arguing in a language she didn’t recognize. She didn’t have an omnitool or a translator. She never needed one on Mindoir, so why waste money on it? The family shared a single omni, unwilling as they were to waste money on what seemed like a frivolous purchase. 

It didn’t seem frivolous now.   
  
The sound of whimpering interrupted the arguing voices and she heard a wet crunch followed by another scream. Sophie’s scream.   
  
That was when Jenny lost her head and kicked in the door, fists flaring blue and green eyes burning like emerald hellfire.   
  
Quincy bolted inside before she could. His barking _ did _alert the voices to their presence this time and she heard them yell as she ran past the counter to find Sophie on her knees, bent over their father with her hands fisting the fabric of his grey shirt as though she had been trying to drag him. Her face was crumpled in on one side and oozing blood.

_ Too much blood. _

“Sophie! Dad!”  
  
Jenny fell hard to her knees, grabbing her shaking sister with her left hand while her right held tightly onto the hand fork at her side. There were two aliens with four sets of black eyes opened wide with confused fear as Quincy crunched his jaws tight around one of their hands, his greying muzzle wrinkled with loyal savagery.   
  
A gun dropped to the floor and fired a shot that tore through the olive wood table and sprayed the room with wooden splinters. The second one bellowed his rage and shouted towards the wounded Shepards. Four hateful eyes met a furious green glare before he stooped and Jenny realized too late what he was doing.   
  
She heard the air rush from Quincy’s lungs with a shrill yelp as a heavy, booted foot met his ribs. There was no time to react, she had to get the gun-   
  
The same black boot flew towards her face, leaving her with blinding pain in her head. She felt a wet heat slide down her face, stinging her right eye as it pooled there. Before she could blink away the stars in her eyes, she heard a vicious snarl, then a shot that transformed it to a whine. An awful silence followed.   
  
When the stars were finally gone, red blood was pooling around her knees where she sat on the floor and she followed it towards its source.   
  
Quincy was looking back at her with his right eye while blood oozed out of the void where his left eye should be. It filled his open mouth and covered the pink tongue that sprawled across the floor. Sophie let out a terrified sob behind her and Jenny quaked with rage.   
  
_ No. No more. _   
  
They stole her loyal shadow, the gentle giant that always followed at her heels. His loving, intelligent presence had been snuffed out in a matter of seconds, leaving a hollow ache in the place where Jenny’s heart thundered furiously to break free. Another azure shift washed over her freckled skin and Jenny fought to quiet her rage enough to stay smart. Desperately, she looked around for her mother.

She saw the hand first. It was pale and still, reaching out from behind the island in the kitchen. The blood she saw second, far too much of it. Erin’s tiny hand was frozen in the shape of a claw from where she had tried to grasp the knife handle in her palm. It looked ghoulish and wrong, and Jenny had to violently tear her eyes away from it.

Her rage was growing impossible to contain, it burned in her belly and her hands and when she turned back to the aliens she knew were called batarians her eyes flashed with gleams of wicked blue.  
  
The aliens were arguing again, clearly unafraid now that the gun was back in their possession. The one with the crushed hand was furiously shaking his broken fingers towards her and Sophie while the other screamed at him.   
  
Jenny took the screaming one first.   
  
In one fluid motion she shifted her weight from her knees back onto her feet and sprung forwards, bellowing while she shoved the hand fork into the batarian’s neck. Blood gushed from his neck is a grisly arc and the gun dropped from his fingers. This time it didn’t go off.

Before either of these murderers could react she plunged her fork again, then again into his greasy, fat neck before she fell away and grabbed the gun, leaving the hand fork on the ground. The screaming batarian fell to the ground, his final words little more than a wet gurgle as his eyes glazed over.

Jenny was soaked head to toe in his blood, the stink leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach. The batarian with the crushed hand looked scared now. His eyes were wide and unblinking as he watched her get to her feet and start screaming, his partner’s blood transforming her into a vengeful spirit making its advance.  
  
“Stay away!”   
  
She didn’t recognize the anguished voice tearing from her throat; it wasn’t one she had ever heard before.   
  
“Stay away from my family, you son of a bitch!”   
  
She fired the gun and missed. When she fired a second time there was a hollow click and she realized the thermal clip was spent. She didn’t know how to change it, so she dropped the gun behind her. Before the attacker could respond, she dropped to her knees and grabbed the hand fork again, which made him yell angrily.   
  
“Fuck you!” she screamed, “Fuck you, fuck you, _ fuck you! _ ”   
  
Something in her voice made him grow very still, or maybe it was the shifting tides of dark energy that roiled like a raging sea on her skin. She watched as his gaze moved from her to Sophie, who was sobbing weakly behind her. Jenny’s heart ached, urging her to turn towards her sister, but she knew she couldn’t turn her back to this monster.   
  
One good hand and one crushed hand raised in what was likely a cross-species gesture to calm down. His voice dropped to a gravelly note of reassurance, but the sound had kicked away the lingering remnants of her patience. How _ dare _ he try to soothe her like she was just some petulant child.   
  
“ _ FUCK. _ ” she screamed, running for him and bringing her knee swiftly up towards his crotch, “ _ YOU. _ ”   
  
She watched him crumple and yell, more from the rush of biotic energy than her knee cracking against his armour. When he turned his face up towards her, she brought her hand fork down in a brutal swipe. It sliced through the fatty skin of his face and clean through two of his eyes. Screaming, he scrambled backwards and brought his good hand up to feel the sickening mess of ribboned flesh, blood, and the clear ooze now weeping from his ruined left eyes.   
  
He didn’t move to attack, instead he was cowed by the pressure pulsing from her in blue waves. Biotic energy sat on her chest like a great weight; it made her head ache and her nose run with blood. She gripped her makeshift weapon as best she could while she stared the wounded batarian down. The handle was slick with his and his partner’s blood and it was difficult to hold. She wanted to drop it and tend to her family, wanted to make sure they were okay. She couldn’t do that with their attacker still here.   
  
“ _ Leave! _ ” she roared, kicking his shoulder. He had slumped against one of the legs of the olive wood table, a shattered plate on the floor beside him.   
  
When she screamed again, the weight on her chest was pushed forwards and a shock of biotics sent him sprawling to his side. When he caught his breath, he staggered to his feet and ran, leaving her to tend to her sister and parents.   
  
Jenny spun on her feet and rushed over to her sister, screaming, “Sophie!” when she noticed the young girl’s shoulders slumping over.   
  
“Sophie! Are you awake? Listen, don’t fall asleep! I think it’s bad if you fall asleep when your head is hurt.”   
  
Gingerly, she knelt by her sister and pulled her thin form against her chest, smoothing the younger girl’s tangled blonde hair with bloodied fingers. She yanked them away when she realized she was making a mess of Sophie’s hair, a point of pride for the young girl.   
  
“Sorry!”   
  
Words were bubbling out of her in an uncontrolled stream as her sister, normally so fiery and full of sass, trembled quietly against her. Jenny fought not to look over at poor, sweet Quincy who had fought so hard for them. He had protected her to the last and it made her guts twist painfully to think of him. Instead she looked down at her dad’s open eyes.   
  
“Dad! Wake up, I need your-”   
  
Jenny’s breakfast rose into her mouth with a violent lurch of her stomach and she had to fight to keep it down. Sophie’s tiny fingers were fisted in Matthew’s shirt so tightly her knuckles were white, but just above her grip there was a grisly hole in his throat where blood had pooled.   
  
Jenny tried to protest the horror that had flooded her vision, but the words died on her lips. Her throat was too tight, it choked off her voice before she could even make a peep.   
  
_ No! _   
  
No. They couldn’t leave her and Sophie, what were they to do without their parents? Who would run the farm? Sure, she knew the work and the VIs, but she didn’t know how to handle all the paperwork, the finances, none of it! Maybe they were fine, though. Jenny wasn’t a doctor, so maybe they were just barely alive and she couldn’t tell. They couldn’t be gone...they were just _ here _ .   
  
The voice that tugged her gently away from her terror was weak, wheezing.   
  
“Jen...ny…”   
  
Finding her voice again, Jenny yelled her sister’s name and clutched her tightly against her chest.   
  
“We’re going to get out of here,” she reassured the small girl, so tiny in her arms, “Can you get up? I’m going to get us out of here!”   
  
“Jen...ny,” her sister’s voice was a little stronger, now, and Jenny grew still so she could hear.   
  
“Run…”   
  
Sophie went limp in her arms and the world fell away into lonely blackness.

* * *

Jenny woke from her nightmare with the taste of blood and vomit in her mouth, her whole body aching. There was a low, warm voice and a firm grip on her shoulder that was softly shaking her awake.  
  
“Come on, girl,” the voice gently urged, “Wake up. I’m going to get you out of here.”   
  
She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, hugging her pillow tight against her chest. Another gentle shake caused her to attempt shrugging the hand away, but then a second hand found her other shoulder and the voice grew a little louder. More commanding.   
  
“You have to get up, girl,” the voice told her with a tone that would brook no argument, “It’s not safe to stay here.”   
  
It was with great difficulty that Jenny finally opened her eyes, and when she did the reality of what had happened came crashing down on her in one fell swoop.   
  
She was still cradling Sophie’s limp body in her arms, their father beside them. Further away her mother’s dead hand was twisted into an ugly claw around her chef’s knife, and behind them was their darling Quincy.   
  
A tortured cry left her mouth and Jenny looked away to see a man in blue armour looking at her with pity shining in his brown eyes beneath the glare of his helmet. She wanted to push him away but her hands refused to leave her sister’s shoulders.   
  
“Leave us!” she cried weakly, mouth aching every time her teeth brushed against the raw crater where she had bit into her cheek.   
  
He shook his head and began to gingerly pluck her fingers free from Sophie’s shoulders, pulling another sob from her bleeding mouth, “I’m sorry, girl. You have to come with us. You’ll be...you’ll get their ashes, soon enough, you’ll be able to come back and get your things. Come now.”   
  
Jenny yanked her hands free and began to pound her fists weakly against his armoured chest and shoulders until her hands throbbed as painfully as every other part of her body. With the same thoughtfulness and care he showed when prying her hands from Sophie’s shoulders, he pulled her to her feet and let her lean against him. A part of her was fearful, unwilling to trust another stranger in her ruined home. Another part of her knew that this stranger was trustworthy, so she let herself relax in his company.   
  
_ No _ .   
  
She began to panic. She couldn’t leave her family, her farm. Who would nurse her parents and Sophie back to health? Who would feed Quincy? And the hens! She had to get the hens back home and safe, and there were watering protocols-   
  
“You’re in shock,” the stranger’s voice soothed her through the din of her panicked thoughts, “Come now.”   
  
“Wait.”   
  
A moment of clarity rooted Jenny to the spot. She looked up at the armoured stranger and caught her reflection in his helmet: what she saw there made her breath catch and her chest tighten painfully.   
  
A face black with dirt and dried blood was framed in a wild mess of strawberry-blonde waves that had been partially freed from the back of her shirt. From within the miserable canvas two furious, hungry eyes burned like green flames. She didn’t recognize them- Jenny Shepard’s eyes had _ never _ looked like that before. It was a stranger glaring back at her from the fish-eyed reflection of the soldier’s helmet. 

“I can’t just leave,” she demanded, forcefully this time.  
  
Something in her voice made the soldier hesitate. She recognized his Alliance blues, now, and resented him for arriving too late. He would have made short work of their clumsy attackers. Her parents were civilians that had been caught unawares. They didn’t stand a chance.   
  
“We have to,” he responded, his eyes darting towards the door from within his helmet, “There might be more of them.”   
  
She stayed rooted where she stood, uncontrolled biotic energy skittering across the surface of her skin.

“_ No _ . I can’t go, I don’t have a place _ to _ go…”

She needed something. Her only living family was now dead and she feared the same could be said of all their friends. Something told her that if she left with this soldier, she wasn’t coming back. He said she could come back, but who would bring her? They would likely take her off-world until the attack was over, and from there...  
  
Her furious green eyes landed on the dining table, her mother’s olive branch. The bullet had splintered one end into a mess of chunks, leaving her family’s heart in shattered ruins. Grimacing through the ache in her chest, Jenny walked towards it and pried a piece free, closing a bloody fist around the sharp wood as though it were a lifeline.   
  
Her gaze snapped towards the soldier again and she lifted her chin in defiance, as though she refused to be a Shepard who answered the commands of stranger in the family home. It was a valiant effort, but she was still trembling all over from the sick feeling in her stomach and in her soul.   
  
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice hoarse from screaming.   
  
“David,” he answered quickly, reaching a hand to hold her shoulder and steer her away. This time, she allowed it, “David Anderson.”   
  
She laid a hand on his side, leaning into him as he led her to safety. There were more soldiers outside speaking into omnitools, and a woman caught David Anderson’s eye and nodded once, tapping something into her omni.   
  
“David Anderson?”   
  
Jenny’s voice cracked with emotion as they stepped out the back door of the Shepard home into the golden heat of the Mindoir sun. He gently hummed his response, waiting for her to continue. There were a million things she wanted to say, to ask, but grief swelled and closed her throat as tears began to slide down her cheeks once more. She squeezed the wooden shard in her hand and buckled, but the soldier caught her and braced her against his side.

In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother’s voice from earlier that morning. _ “If I could save time in a bottle…” _

“It’s okay, girl,” he said softly, “I’ve got you.”


End file.
